“Excellent. And to drink with dinner?” she asks.
“Would you like a chardonnay with your chicken? Or would you prefer a pinot grigio?” I ask.
“I’m fine with the Diet Coke,” she says softly.
“If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure,” she assures me. I wonder about the soft drink. This is the second time she’s not ordered alcohol. She seems quite innocent, and I half wonder if she’s under-age, but maybe she’s just keeping her wits about her, something I quite admire as many of my dates have gotten beyond buzzed from multiple cocktails.
I order a glass of the 2012 Hidden Ridge Cabernet Sauvignon for dinner, and the waitress collects our menus and leaves us.
“Your name,” I say to the beguilingly beautiful girl across from me. “I’ve been wondering. Is it short for Natalia?”
She looks surprised by my question, and I immediately feel stupid for asking and making her uncomfortable. “No,” she answers carefully. “It’s a nickname of sorts.” She offers a small smile, and I gather that she’s not in love with her real name and decide to let it go. I remember my friend Kelly Murphy. A guy. He was named after his grandfather. Originally, the name was a man’s name, but recent convention has rendered the name female. So, he went by the nickname Lee for the last syllable.
CRYSTAL
“Well, I like the name Talia, nickname or not,” he tells me. “I’ve always wanted a nickname, but Dave doesn’t feel right to me. It just feels lazy like someone couldn’t finish saying my name.”
“David suits you,” I agree. I love how his name feels on my tongue.
We lock eyes, and I feel like the rest of the beautiful room and elegant patrons fade away. I could totally get lost in his gaze.
Just then, the waitress brings our drinks and breaks the spell. My Diet Coke is served in a beautiful cut-glass tumbler. David is set up with a large, empty wine glass. The server pours a small amount into the wine glass from a small carafe. I watch carefully as David swirls the wine glass, then picks it up looking at the red liquid re-collect in the bottom. He gives a gentle sniff, then takes a sip. He clearly knows what he’s doing. A part of me is intimidated, but the other part feels secure. He’s not just drinking alcohol to consume it and get drunk, he’s appreciating the libation.
“Mmm. Excellent,” he tells our waitress who then pours the rest of the wine into the glass and takes her leave.
“So, I was thinking, after our drinks yesterday. Schools. I told you about my high school. Where did you go? And if you had gone to college right after high school, where would you have gone?”
“Well, I went to the local high school. Public, the one everyone went to from the surrounding three towns. And only fifty-six kids in my graduating class at that. And college? I probably would have stayed near home and gone to Southern Illinois University. Where did you go?” I ask, steering the attention from my pathetic lack of prestigious education.
“Undergrad at Notre Dame for business, then Stanford for my MBA, just like my dad.”
I didn’t know much about universities, but Notre Dame was a name I recognized, in part from their football team but also as a smart institution. And a second degree? An MBA. I vaguely know it’s a business degree, and that Stanford is an elite school. I’m impressed, and I start to feel a little intimidated. But David doesn’t seem like he’s bragging or flaunting anything, so I try and put my negative thoughts about my lack of an education to bed.
“What’s your dad like?” I ask, always fascinated with the idea of having a dad around and steering the conversation away from school altogether. I was always jealous watching Heather and her father. They had a great father-daughter relationship, and I imagine that David has the same with his dad.
“Typical, I guess. Works like a dog Monday through Friday. Golfs on the weekends. Always pushes me to be my best. He made me into the man I am today.”
“And your mother?”
“She’s funny. And classy. When I was away at school, she was always sending me care packages and cards, even flew up a few times when I was either in the school play or receiving an award. In the summers, I’d go with her to her volunteer functions, or we’d just wander the city. She took me to all of the museums a lot, and the library was a favorite of ours.”
“Do you see her often?” I ask. I like how his eyes light up when he speaks of her.
“I do… and my father. We have dinner together at least once a week. Every Sunday night and sometimes during the week.” He smiles. He must have a great family. My heart is happy for him, yet breaks for myself. “How about you? What are your parents, or family, like? Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
Oh, crap! I think to myself. Serves me right for asking him questions about his family. “Well…” I search my brain for the best relationship in my life. I deduce it’s with my brother, so I start with him. “My brother, Jude, is into cars,” I start and quickly decide that maybe he’s not the best one to start with. His ‘into cars’ is more like stealing them. “My mother, she’s a free spirit.” I mentally pat myself on the back for the double entendre. “And my dad, well, he’s, um…” I stall to find the perfect words to describe the non-existent relationship. “He’s no longer with us,” I finish. I can’t tell him that I have no idea who my dad is, or that I’ve never even met him.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” David says, reaching across the table and taking my hand, which had taken to curling the edge of my napkin from nerves of all the half-truths I was dabbling with. Suddenly, I realize that he’s thinking my dad died. To be honest, since I don’t know who my dad is, he could very well be dead.
Our uncomfortable discussion is quickly ended as the appetizers are brought to the table, and I suddenly realize how hungry I am.
The food is amazing, and the company is even better. David is so easy to talk to, and I love watching him talk. The sound of his voice is so smooth and rich. We talk about things to do in the city since I am new and have only visited a couple of the big museums. He talks about other cities, both in the States as well as other countries. I’m fascinated, and if I’m fully honest, a tad bit jealous with the extent of his travels.
I talk about my favorite thing—books—and he convinces me to read some of his favorites like The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings, and I do my best to sell the romantic stories I love so much.
Yet all through dinner, I can’t shake the feeling he’s hiding something. But perhaps that’s my own guilt for hiding so much about myself.
12
After Dinner
DAVID
As much as I don’t want the night to end after dinner, I flag down a cab to take Talia home.
“Oh, I’m so full. I’m better off walking home and walking some of it off,” she says, resting her hands on her flat stomach. Typically, the girls say that after eating a few bites of their most-expensive-item-on-the-menu dinner and a few glasses of wine. But to her credit, Talia ate her share of the appetizers, all of her dinner, and every bite of her dessert. A certified member of the ‘clean-plate club.’ “Besides, it’s not far. Thank you for dinner, David. I had a wonderful time,” she says, extending her hand to me like we’ve just concluded a business deal of some sort.
Oh no. We are not saying goodbye. “Can I walk you home then?” I ask, maybe a little too eagerly.
She carefully considers my question, then a small smile appears on her perfect mouth. Oh, that mouth is going to be the death of me. Watching her smile… talk… eat… Don’t get me started about dessert. A chocolate lava cake with raspberry coulis. I almost lost my mind. A drop of chocolate lava clung to the side of her mouth, and she had used her finger to push the drop in. She sucked on her finger and moaned, and said that it was the best chocolate dessert she’d ever eaten. Since that moment, my mind was consumed with that mouth. Maybe walking her home isn’t a good idea. All my gentlemanly ways may take a walk in the opposite direction.
“I’d like that. Thank you,” she says shyly.
We start heading south on Michigan Avenue dodging people left and right and looking in the windows of the stores. I want to hold her hand. I want anyone walking down the street who sees us to know that we are together, but both of her hands are gripping her clutch.
The whole night she’s seemed anxious when talking about herself as I saw from her nervous habit of rubbing her finger and thumb together, but I did learn a few things. Her favorite colors are fuchsia and turquoise, depending on the day. Her favorite food is tacos, but she’s never had fish tacos, and I intend to remedy that. And her favorite music is country. I don’t know the singers she mentioned, but it’s now my homework.
We pass by Tiffany & Co., and I bring her to the windows. I think you know a lot about a person by what jewelry they like. I love watching her face at the sparkling gems on the velvet cushions, taking note which things delight her most.
She appreciates the elegance of the pearls.
She admires the simplicity of unembellished pieces in silver and gold.
She holds in high regard the pieces that could easily represent symbolism like a filigree key or the infinity collection.
My ex-wife, and many of the women I’ve dated over the past few years, always felt that the more diamonds, the better. The more expensive, the better. The more more… the better. Talia continues to enchant me beyond expectation. She appreciates simplicity and beauty over price tags.
We amble down the street, and an ass rushes past Talia knocking her into me. I catch her easily and suddenly don’t think the guy is such an ass anymore. Having Talia in my arms feels… comforting. After our easy conversation at dinner and now with her in my arms, I feel whole like a piece of me had been missing, and Talia filled that space. I have never felt this before, and it’s a little scary.
She looks up at me startled, and we lock eyes. Staring into her sparkling clear blue orbs, feeling her delicate and lithe frame in my arms, smelling her gentle fragrance of… vanilla? All fear leaves, and I feel as though I’ve died and gone to heaven.
I want to kiss her, but would that be too forward?
“Are you okay?” I ask, searching her gentle blue eyes. Such a soft, peaceful blue like a new day, fresh and full of possibility. I feel a peculiar serenity just looking into the windows to her soul.
“Uh-huh,” she says quietly.
I tuck her into my side wrapping my arm around her shoulders for her safety, I tell her, and we continue down the street.
“Can we stop in here?” she asks as we approach a Walgreens.
“Sure,” I say, fairly certain I’ve never been to a drug store on a date before except that one time when I needed to buy some condoms, but my date didn’t come in with me.
Talia weaves herself through the store to the section with all sorts of foot care. Before my very eyes, she grabs a package, opens it, and produces a pair of slipper-like shoes. She pops off her heels sighing with relief as she wiggles her toes and slips on the new ‘footwear.’ She repeats the process again and stands, a few inches shorter now, in front of me.
“Thank you. Those heels were torture. I’m not really used to wearing them. These don’t really go with the outfit, but I just don’t think I could have gone another block in these,” she huffs, picking up the stunning black heels.
“You don’t need to explain to me,” I say, chuckling at her easy nature. I couldn’t recall a single date who chose comfort over fashion. She’s more than a breath of fresh air. She’s positively delightful.
We make our way to the registers, and I immediately spot the magazines where my face, along with nine other Chicago bachelors, grins back at me with the headlines about the stupid list. I start to panic, but it seems as though Talia hadn’t seen them. I’m trying to figure out a way from keeping us from going down that check-out lane, but the gods are smiling on me as another lane opens, one with more candy than magazines, and no Chicago Now magazine.
As I calm my frantic nerves, Talia hands the clerk the torn packaging, apologetically.
Quickly, I pull out my wallet, and I’m just about to slide my credit card through the card reader when Talia stops me.
“Oh, no. I didn’t mean for you to buy me these,” Talia says, looking alarmed and surprised.
“Not at all. It’s my pleasure,” I answer, again aiming for the card reader.
“Seriously, I can pay for them. I insist,” she says confidently as she pulls a credit card from her wallet.
I nod and step back. I don’t like it, but she’s insisting. Talia pushes the card’s chip end into the reader and smiles politely to the petite cashier who has been watching our little exchange with some amusement and looking at me a little curiously. I get the nervous feeling that this woman knows who I am, and I silently pray that she has the common courtesy to say nothing.
“I would have let your date pay for them,” the woman says quietly to Talia, who replies with a shrug.
Talia tucks her heels into the bag with the packaging, and we head back onto the street.
“Thank you,” she says, turning to me.
“For what?” I ask, truly confused.
“For letting me pay for my shoes.”
Frankly, I’m stunned into place. Normally, my dates try to get me to pay for everything. Shoes, dresses, and jewelry. Trips to Europe. I find Talia to be refreshing if not a total puzzle.
“Talia Jameson, you are one very special woman.”
CRYSTAL
I feel my cheeks glow pink. Special? Me? Because I wanted to pay for my own shoes?
“I just feel weird when people buy things for me. I can’t explain it,” I fib. I can explain it. But I don’t want to. Not yet anyway. Probably never, to be honest. After taking hand-me-downs and handouts for so long from the generosity of neighbors to letting Austin buy me dinner and later we’d hook up. I enjoy being able to buy things for myself. Besides, I’m sure dinner was quite expensive already. David had spent more than enough on me tonight, especially since I wasn’t going to be letting him take me to bed. No longer would I be that kind of girl—easy to get into the sac.
“At least let me carry your bag,” David offers graciously. I let him.
We continue down State Street, and I ask David about colleges in town that I might apply to so that I can get my degree.
“What would you major in?” he asks.
“Maybe library science. I mean, I love books and libraries… I think I would like a career with books on some level.”
I tell him about the volunteer opportunity at the Harold Washington Library, and David doesn’t discourage the idea at all. He also suggests I consider other literary type careers like getting involved in editing and publishing. My mind is full of imaginings of the classes I would take for any of the careers we talk about.
“Or maybe law,” I tell him, testing the waters. “My friend, Millie, said her dad, a civil rights attorney, is looking for an intern. I may call him and learn more about being a lawyer.”
“I think both ideas are wonderful.” My heart fills with hope as I start to see myself, at least a little bit, the way David is seeing me.
Before I know it, we’ve passed the library and are in front of my building. I’m horrified that I’ve just led him here. What is my brain doing? I was supposed to stop us at the library where he’d picked me up.
“Oh. Um, well, this is it. My building. Thank you for walking me home.”
He looks at the building and one of the evening doormen. I think this one is Conrad standing sentinel.
“My sincerest pleasure,” he says gallantly. He’s quiet for a moment then asks, “What are you doing tomorrow?”
I shake my head slowly and say, “I don’t really have any plans.”
“Would you like to see Chi
cago from the lake?”
“Lake Michigan?”
“Yeah. We… um, someone I know has a boat. A small one. If I can arrange it, and I’m pretty sure I can, would you like to have a picnic on the lake?”
The idea sounds romantic and terrifying all at once. Not only am I not a great swimmer, I’m hesitant to be in a very remote place with a man I barely know. My over-active imagination starts to concoct crazy scenarios with huge ransoms due to my lottery winnings. However, looking into David’s eyes, I don’t see one ounce of malice. My belly clenches when I look into his deep brown eyes, but that reaction is not due to fear… rather a strong attraction. Before my head can stop me, my mouth says, “Sounds like fun.”
That said, I don’t have a chance, and dating David is just for fun. Once he learns of my background, he probably won’t want anything to do with me. Clearly, he comes from a more sophisticated lifestyle.
“Tomorrow? Ten o’clock?”
I nod lest I speak and let and my nerves about dating David or being on a boat show.
He leans in and kisses me on the cheek the way he did after drinks yesterday, although this time, his lips are a bit closer to mine. I want a real kiss, but at the same time, I’m enchanted by his gentle, chivalrous ways. It’s ‘old world.’ Besides, a ‘real kiss’ might lead to more, and I don’t want to lead David on.
“Thank you for accompanying me to dinner,” he says. “I’m looking forward to tomorrow.”
“Me, too.” I can’t help the stupid smile that’s plastered across my face.
I turn to head inside, and Conrad opens the door for me, but just before he does, I spot my reflection.
“Oh!” I say. “Your jacket!” I turn back to David who takes his jacket back and smiles and offers one more kiss to my cheek.
“Sweet dreams,” he says.
Up safely in my apartment, I text Lainey quickly to tell her I’m home and all is good, then try to force myself to sleep. Quite a feat when all I can see is David’s smile when I close my eyes.
Win for Love Page 13
